A Thousand Words
by Little Miss Molly
Summary: A collection of Danny Phantom drabbles. Varied themes, pairings, ratings, and warnings. Most recent: For Whom The Bell Tolls, religious themes
1. A Thousand Words

**Title: **A Thousand Words**  
Author: **Post Preemptive Pandora  
**Rating: **PG**  
Disclaimer: **Characters belong to Butch Hartman  
**Pairings: **None**  
Warnings: **None, really.**  
Notes:**  
First note for this entire thing. I've decided to return, somewhat, to post various DP one-shots. These are all one-shots posted on my writing LJ, the link to which can be found on my profile. Please be sure to check it out. Yes, I am shamelessly plugging myself, how kind of you to notice. :D  


* * *

They're the perfect image of unity.

They're in a lab of some sort. Dad looks like the picture caught him off-guard. Like he was in the middle of something. His mouth is frozen halfway through smiling (probaly saying "GHOST") and his eyes are full of amusement. He's holding a flask in his hand; it's about to overflow.

Mom's smiling, her mouth slightly open. Laughing, maybe. She's not looking at the camera. Her eyes are focused slightly to the left, probably at the person taking the picture. She looks content, even moreso than she does now. Like she has everything she could ever wish for.

Vlad's in the middle. He has an arm around each of them. His lower body is blurred, in motion. Jumping, maybe. He's grinning like I've never seen him grin. Like someone who has the world at his feet, and is _happy_ with it. He probably grinned like that a lot back then.

The three of them, a mis-matched group, all smiles and laughter and love. Like an unstoppable force, their path free of obstacles, their whole lives ahead of them, together. Happy; truly happy.  
If a picture's worth a thousand words, then someone tell me what the hell happened.


	2. Anticlimactic

**Title: **Anticlimactic**  
Author: **Post Preemptive Pandora  
**Rating: **PG-13**  
Disclaimer: **Characters belong to Butch Hartman  
**Pairings: **Vlad/Danny**  
Warnings: **Slash, general weirdness.**  
Notes: **This was actually my first time writing Pompous Pep. :O Oh my.  


* * *

It's not love. It's far from anything remotely resembling love. It's not even lust, not really, when you got right down to it.

It's the feeling that they're alone, the last—_first_—of their kind, that makes it so—_wrong_—right. Or is it the feeling of danger, the sensation that he's dancing on hot coals in iron shoes as punishment for something small and insignificant?

Danny doesn't really know anymore.

Nor, pinned to a hard blue chest, unable to look up because that would be admitting to the crime, does he particularly _want_ to.


	3. Sick Music Makes Money

**Title: **Sick Music Makes Money**  
Author: **Post Preemptive Pandora  
**Rating: **PG-13**  
Disclaimer: **Characters belong to Butch Hartman  
**Pairing: **Ember/Jazz**  
Warnings: **Femmeslash, sexual situations, I guess Ember being dead makes it necrophilia, and dubious consent due to mind control**  
Notes: **During 'Fanning the Flames' when Jazz is Ember-obsessed. I can't believe nobody's done this yet. Shame on you, Phandom!  


* * *

It's not the kind of thing her mother would approve of: climbing into the back of a band van and dirtying herself like this. But there are a lot of things her mother wouldn't approve of, and besides, it's _Ember_, and Ember is wonderful and perfect and everything and she never, _never_ wants to leave, _never_ wants to go home to her mother and father and brother—

Danny was talking about Sam, and Jazz hadn't wanted to listen because she had more important things (_Ember_) to think about. Like Ember. Ember whose hands are stroking her under her shirt, the shirt that's suddenly not there anymore and Jazz doesn't really _care_. But Danny shut himself in his room to think about Sam, and it makes her angry because he should be thinking about Ember. Always Ember. There was no one but Ember, no one else could compare—

There's something in the back of Jazz's mind, screaming, wailing, _this isn't you, stop, what are you doing, stop_. But it doesn't really matter because Ember is beautiful and Ember wants _her_—_Ember wants ME!_—and Ember is looking at her with those frightening eyes and Ember oh _God_—!!

Sent to her room, like a little kid who spilled the milk and stole the cookie. She heard the music and she had to go and so she _went_. After the van—after _Ember_—screaming out her love, her loyalty, her undying devotion. She noticed right away the entire van smells like something scandalous, intoxicating, or maybe that's just the way Ember always smells, in which case it's wonderful and she wants more, more, more—

"You're beautiful," Ember says, though Jazz barely hears because the sound is overwhelming, and she just _comes_ from her voice alone. Fully-clothed, untouched (_not for long_) like some sex-mad teenager, but she's an adult now and this is shameful and wrong but it's Ember so that makes it _perfect_. She lets Jazz catch her breath, lets her heave, pant, moan, gasp, and Ember takes her hair down, smiling, touching, stroking, "who do you love?"

"Ember" Jazz answers without hesitation, and Ember smiles wider and it makes Jazz tingle all over.

"Good, baby; good."


	4. Big Brother

**Title: **Big Brother**  
Author: **Post Preemptive Pandora  
**Rating: **R**  
Disclaimer: **Characters belong to Butch Hartman  
**Pairing: **Dan/Jazz**  
Warnings: **Non-con, kinda-sorta incest  
**Notes:** I WROTE THIS IN THE DALLAS AIRPORT MMKAY? Also, I want to make it known that you can find more one-shots/drabbles on my writing LJ. I'm not posting them all here. Link is in my profile. LOOK AT ME PLUG MYSELF!  


* * *

These things were always better carried out on a bed, but she threw herself off in an attempt at escape, and he can't be bothered to lift her struggling form back onto the sheets of his old bed. So instead they're sprawled on the floor, thrashing about like serpents on the carpet.

He will admit, his old sister is a worthy opponent. She's strong; not as strong as him, never even close, but strong nonetheless. And she's _smart_—she figured out his secret. He hadn't been aware that she knew, when she died the first time. Now that he stops to think back on it, he sees the signs, sees the times she covered for him, and always left him wondering _why_. Now, he understands, and it amuses him to no end.

He knows she doesn't see him as her brother; she could never accept a monster like him to be her sweet, beloved _Danny_. Yet at the same time, he sees it in her eyes, she is under the impression that he still thinks of her as his sister, that this is an act of incest. She is wrong. He has no ties, be they flesh or blood or soul. He thinks, _my sister_, and it means nothing; _she_ means nothing. She is no blood of his; maybe, once, but not anymore, not now. Now, she is merely a part of his plans, a pawn in his game.

And pawns are meant to be used.

If it's any consolation, he tells her, though he doesn't particularly _care_ how she feels, at least she won't have to face his weaker self ever again. This ignites a burst of obscenities, rising dangerously in volume until he rolls his eyes and strikes her against the temple. Their clothing is gone in a flash of intangibility, and despite her ever defiant expression, he can feel her shiver in fear. She's afraid of him—and rightly so.

"Do you like my body," he purrs and strokes her face. She bites his hand and spits at him in reply, and _that's it._

She's a fighter, he'll give her that. She wriggles and she claws and she bites, she lands a blow or two, and he decides not to insult her by saying he allowed them to her. He even admits, later, growling in her ear, that had he still been his weaker self, she would have won. She shudders, and shrinks away from him; still she glares, and he _loves it_.

It's almost enough to make him want to spare her life.

Almost.


	5. Child Safe Cap

**Title: **Child-Safe Cap  
**Author: **Post Preemptive Pandora  
**Rating: **PG-13  
**Disclaimer: **Characters belong to Butch Hartman  
**Pairings: **None  
**Warnings: **Naughty Vlad isn't following the doctor's orders.  
**Comments: **I came up with this in the shower, whut. Kudos to whoever figures out wtf is going on here, and what I'm implying with it.  


* * *

Vlad goes to the pharmacy like clockwork; every thirty days, on the dot, to the hour, he shows up at the counter, and he hands the woman—it's _always _a woman—his prescription, and she smiles and asks him how he's doing. He answers in vague two-word statements, and when the bottle is handed to him he leaves before she can finish saying goodbye.

He drives himself to the pharmacy, to prove he still can. He drives himself back, and his point is proven, to no one but himself. The sealed bag is thrown onto the passenger seat; it slides off, landing on the floor with a rattling of pills when he makes too sharp a turn. He doesn't pay it any mind.

When he gets home, he goes to the bathroom on the third floor, the one that hasn't been used in several years, the one that he had the piping taken out of, so it could _never_ be used. He goes to it, and puts the bottle in the medicine cabinet. He throws it almost carelessly inside, and it sits amongst its dozens of untouched twins.

He locks the bathroom door behind him and goes down to his lab.


	6. See You In The Morning

**Title: **See You In The Morning  
**Author: **Post Preemptive Pandora  
**Rating: **PG-13  
**Disclaimer: **Characters belong to Butch Hartman  
**Pairings: **None  
**Warnings: **Character death, angst  
**Comments: **Assumes Phantom Planet never happened.  


* * *

_It's raining..._

It had started when they were in the big cold building, the last time they saw her face. Just the _pitter pat_ of a drizzle against the window at first. Then it grew. And by the time the procession began it had raged into a torrential downpour. The attendants had to rush to put up a tarp over the site, covering their heads and covering her stone.

His friends are on either side of him. They hold his hands and put their arms around him, whispering comfort. Danny barely hears them over the ringing in his ears.

His father is a mess. He lost it completely earlier, sobbing until his suit was stained with tears and snot bubbles came out of his nose. He's not doing that now, though. Now, he just runs his hand over the lid, and stares at the polished wood with empty eyes.

His sister doesn't know what to do with herself. She wants to comfort her father, but she doesn't know what to say. She wants to comfort her brother, but she doesn't know what to do. She wants to scream and cry and tear out her hair and pound her skull into the ground, but she doesn't know how. So she stands under the tarp with misty eyes and tries not to watch.

Vlad is standing beside Jack. He hasn't cried, he won't cry, he doesn't cry. But when he recited his eulogy he had to pause halfway through, tilting his head back and closing his eyes and swallowing visibly. It was the most human Danny has ever seen him, and it makes it horrifyingly _real_.

She was fine, she was well and good and happy. And then she was gone. Just like that. Forty-four years old, and she was gone.

Lightning flashes across the sky. The words are spoken, and the goodbyes are given, and the tears are shed, and the earth comes down over her resting place.

He doesn't want to leave. He stands looking down at the freshly-turned earth, and when a hand lands on his shoulder he doesn't turn around. They don't look at each other; they don't need to.

"Don't bother looking for her in the Ghost Zone, Daniel," Vlad whispers, and his voice is unusually tender. "I already tried. She's not there."

Hours later, the boy tries anyway, and finds nothing.

So instead he lies still on his bed, and stares at the ceiling, and thinks of her weak and bedridden, her face pale and drawn, and still she smiled and stroked his hair.

_Goodnight, sweetie...see you in the morning._


	7. Time

**Title: **Time  
**Author: **Post Preemptive Pandora  
**Rating: **PG  
**Disclaimer: **Characters belong to Butch Hartman...thankfully.  
**Pairings: **Blink-and-it's-gone Clockwork/Danny  
**Warnings: **Character death  
**Notes: **This is actually part of a larger one-shot, 'Five Things' in which I kill off Danny five different ways. This one was my favorite, though, so I'm posting it here.  


* * *

Had he intended to show up just in time, he'd have been a fraction of a second too late. As it was, he arrived precisely when he meant to, waving a hand idly in front of his face to clear his vision of smoke. Though his face, shifting from one age to the next, remained impassive, he frowned inwardly; no matter how many times Clockwork witnessed this scene, in any of its incarnations, it never stopped bothering him.

The boy, the Ghost Child, _Daniel_, had seen him arrive. Crushed as he was beneath a twisted and melting mass of metal, he could not move to face him properly, exact his vengeance, even to yell obscenities and curses his way. Too much damage for his ghost powers to heal. Perhaps he knew already, for he didn't transform. He only moved his eyes, looking at Clockwork as he hovered high above him, managing a crushed and garbled, _why?_

Clockwork didn't answer. He didn't even move until Daniel's eyes had fluttered shut, and he stopped moving completely. Only then did he allow himself the vice of descending into the wreckage, by-passing the remains of the boy's family and with nary a glance, his attention focused on the small one who had so captured his attention. The attention of everyone, be it human or ghost.

Slowly, Clockwork slipped one of his hands out of its glove, reaching out to touch that cold, pale face. Daniel's head fell limply to the side, and the ghost's other hand, still gloved, caught his other cheek to right it. Telling himself it had to be done, he had saved countless lives, prevented a future too horrible to describe. The same argument he always told himself, over and over again throughout the ages, as he sacrificed individuals for the good of the world.

It never did anything to comfort him.

He exhaled gently over the boy's mouth, the chill of his breath turning those already-cold lips blue. With that one last gesture, the Master of Time turned to face the twin figures hovering just behind him, their single eyes staring intently.

"Problem solved


	8. The Healing Power of Laughter

**Title: **The Healing Power of Laughter  
**Author: **Post Preemptive Pandora  
**Rating: **PG-13  
**Disclaimer: **Characters belong to Butch Hartman  
**Pairing: **Vlad/Danny  
**Warnings: **Implied non-con, implied slash  
**Notes: **Screw author's comments, I have a stomachache. D:  


* * *

The surface beneath him is hard and cold, which makes Danny fairly certain he's not in his bed at home anymore. His pillow is gone, as are his sheets; actually, his entire bed is gone, and he is lying on a stone floor decidedly not his own.

He stands and he looks around, but he can't see much. Too dark, too cold, and simply too empty. His eyes adjust to the darkness, and he can barely make out an empty room of undeterminable size. Empty, that is, except for him. And for—

"Have a nice nap, Daniel?"

He hears the voice, _knows_ the voice, and he turns on the balls of his feet, sees the source, sees blue skin and eyes the color of blood and—

"I'm going—"

—a hand-held pronged device, emitting very unfriendly-looking sparks. The Plasmius Maximus. The trumped-up stun gun with a fancy name to make it seem more original.

He has the time to scoff to himself before the prongs make contact with his chest—_shit_, right over the heart—and his mind goes blank with pain.

-

The next thing he's aware of is lying on the floor, on his back this time, and Vlad is looming over him.

"Well, looks like you'll live," Vlad says mildly, "I was starting to wonder if you'd gone into cardiac arrest."

On his back on the floor is not the safest place to be, so Danny scrambles to his feet, backing himself away from Vlad, close enough so he could still see him, didn't want to lose him in the dark, not without his powers. The expression on Vlad's face would be hurt if his eyes weren't so full of amusement.

"You don't trust me, Daniel?"

"You know I don't."

"Ah, Daniel," a heavy dramatic sigh, "the more you fight me, the more I _want_ you."

Vlad is circling him, smiling, and he reminds Danny of a big white-blue-black-red hawk, the way he's watching him, keeping his pace slow enough that Danny can keep up, keep turning so they're facing each other, because he doesn't have his powers now and that is a bad thing.

"I was worried about you, you know," Vlad says in that same mild, amused tone, and Danny doesn't believe him for an instant but he refrains from saying so. "Do you have any idea how long you were out?"

He doesn't. And he'd rather not ask.

Vlad moves, sudden, quick, too fast for Danny to keep up, he's behind him, at his back. And then Danny's on his stomach again, and Vlad's entire body is pressed along the length of his back, his cape draped over the both of them, one large hand pushing his face into the stone floor, the other stroking idly along the sides of his stomach, the muscles convulsing under the touch. Danny squirms, and manages to free his hand, but Vlad's arm is positioned around his elbow, restraining his movement, so he settles for squirming some more and kicking his legs feebly. The hand on his head pushes harder, "do you remember what I said about fighting me, Daniel?"

"What do you want, Plasmius?"

A moment's pause, and then the older man laughs, the sound vibrating down the length of Danny's body.

Danny doesn't like that laugh; he never has. The one that's deep and cold, full of mirth but empty of humor, that sends chills down his spine violent enough that his entire body jerks. A laugh practiced—it couldn't be natural talent, could it?—to express, not amusement or elation, but a statement, simple and hard and true: _I win_.

It's the same laugh he's heard before, whenever he was helpless, at the older man's complete mercy. The hands are moving now, combing fingers through his hair, stroking circles on his skin in a downward pattern. Pushing the moment in an entirely different direction that steals the wind from Danny's lungs.

"I'll ask again, Plasmius," he manages to choke out through the tightening in his chest he wishes had nothing to do with fear, "what do you want?"

His only answer is a second laugh, and fingers slipping low along his stomach. Lower. Too low.

But that's enough of an answer.


	9. Accident

**Title: **Accident  
**Author: **Post Preemptive Pandora  
**Rating: **PG  
**Disclaimer: **Characters belong to Butch Hartman  
**Pairings: **Light Danny/Sam  
**Warnings: **Character death  
**Notes:** Another one from my set of five Let's-Kill-Danny drabbles. I figured I should heave a bit of canon romance into the collection here, too. Even though it's very light. The focus is Danny dying, remember. :D  


* * *

"Danny? Danny! Can you hear me?"

The first thing he was aware of were arms. Thin, but strong, holding him tightly against something warm and soft. Body, it was a body. Whose body? Slowly, he opened his eyes, wondering briefly at the effort even that took. Who was there? Oh, it was Sam. He tried to say hello, but his voice wouldn't work.

"Danny! It's going to be okay! Tucker's gone to get your parents, they'll know what to do!"

But what did they need to do? His head hurt; actually, his entire body hurt. Something had hit him. A car? No, he was inside, no cars inside. Not usually. He moved his eyes with great difficulty, taking in the scene that he could, and realized he was in his parents' lab. Something was smoking just outside of his range of vision. It smelled kind of like over-cooked meat.

"We'll get you to a hospital. Just stay with me, okay?"

She was crying. Dear God, she was _crying_. _Sam_ was _crying_. It had to be bad. What had happened? Where was Tucker? Getting his parents, right. The three of them, down here for...what reason? Something they weren't supposed to be doing, so of course, they'd done it.

"Danny, I...God, Danny, I'm so sorry, I didn't...I thought, I didn't think it would..."

He frowned the best he could, considering he could barely move his face. Yeah. She had told him, convinced him, to...what? Do something risky. Risky, but harmless—right? Something was off. Something in the back of his mind, trying to hard to get through to him, to make an idiom of sense...

"Stupid! It was _stupid_ of me! I never should have suggested you go in there. I should have thought ahead, should have...Danny, just hang on, okay?"

He went inside. He went in to...something. Something burning, now. He went in, and something hit him. Something, something, something. So many somethings. His brain tried to make sense of it all, but it was just too difficult. He was getting too tired to think; he needed to sleep, now.

"I just, I really...I care about you, Danny. I care about you a lot. I know I never said anything...I always meant to, but I just...Danny, I l—"

"I know."

It came out as a whisper; he was amazed he'd even managed that. He heard Sam's sobs catch, and he knew she had heard him. She was saying something else, something more, but he couldn't hear her. His heart was pounding too loudly in his ears: slow, slowing, slower—

"Danny?"

—until only silence remained.

"Danny!!"


	10. Prey

**Title: **Prey**  
Author: **Post Preemptive Pandora  
**Rating: **PG**  
Disclaimer: **Characters belong to Butch Hartman  
**Pairings: **None**  
Warnings: **Character death (again)**  
Notes:** ...yes, another of my Five-Ways-To-Kill-Danny drabbles. This is the last one I intend to post here, however. Honest.  


* * *

There was a glowing blade lodged in Danny's gut, and it hurt like _hell_.

It was a normal fight. Just another battle with a ghost, one he'd beaten dozens of times before. It was all routine. And then, suddenly, it wasn't; suddenly, he was on his knees on the ground, ectoplasm spilling out of him and all over the concrete. There was a little red starting to creep in amongst the green. He assumed that wasn't good.

Any last words of his were choked into a surprised yelp as a cold metal hand grasped his hair from behind, jerking his head back, exposing his throat. He tried to swallow his fear, but it was difficult with his neck bent back at this angle.

"Don't worry, Ghost Child," a voice growled in his ear, brimming with triumph and mirth, "I'll make it quick."


	11. For Whom The Bell Tolls

**Title: **For Whom The Bell Tolls**  
Author: **Post Preemptive Pandora  
**Rating: **PG-13**  
Disclaimer: **Characters belong to Butch Hartman  
**Pairings: **None**  
Warnings: **Some none-too-flattering opinions about religion.**  
Notes:** You may notice one of the chapters has been removed. Namely, 'Reject' the Dan/Sam one. For this, you may thank an anonymous reviewer who felt very insecure about the size of their genitalia. Don't bother looking for the review, I deleted it. -shrug- I'm not really too miffed. It _was_ a bit intense for this site. And it can still be found on Gone In A Day, after all.  
Anyway, I had to look up some things about Catholicism for this chapter. I was raised protestant, and the only time I ever attended a mass, it was in Italian. If you're catholic, and spot anything I got wrong, let me know?  


* * *

Vlad doesn't believe in God, and he doesn't believe in heaven. He believes in hell, certainly, and the seat there long since reserved for him. But he doesn't think about it, and it doesn't worry him, because he's going to live forever.

So it surprises him when he wakes up every Sunday and decides to waste a few more hours of his life in the stuffy cathedral. Really, he just sits in a pew near the back wearing his best suit, and muses on what a joke it all is; thinks about the day when he'll make the trip to Rome and burn down the Vatican. He goes forward to receive the Host, and the old priest smiles warmly at him. He smiles back, and thinks about them all burning in hell, with Plasmius as their master.

Back in college, Jack never went to church on Sundays, but Maddie did. She didn't go to mass with him, no, she was Episcopalian, but he felt a connection between them regardless. United in their faith, another sign from the universe that they were meant for each other. Of course, that dream didn't last long; after his accident, Vlad watched everything fall away from him, and understood for the first time that he was alone. There was no Father, no Son, no Holy fucking Ghost; there was here, there was now, and there was him: Vladimir Masters, the man with one foot in life, the other in death. A miracle; a _deity._

"I'm not coming back," he whispers into the cup as he drinks, "I _am_ God."

Later, on his way home, he stops by the dry cleaners to make sure his suit will be ready for next Sunday.


End file.
